


like real people do

by SingYourMelody



Series: if the universe is you & i [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, i wrote this while i was listening to hozier and it shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:54:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingYourMelody/pseuds/SingYourMelody
Summary: It's what both of them know but neither can say out loud—Stiles brought him back, and Stiles brought him back wrong.





	like real people do

**Author's Note:**

> Aah I wrote this during a sleepless night and full disclosure: I typed Derek as Derk, like, a lot. I went back and fixed (hopefully) all of them, but my point is that I was very tired and this made sense to me at the time, but that's not exactly saying much. Anyway, this narrative isn't super linear so to clear up any confusion before you start reading: snippets in italics are flashbacks and most of this fic is from Derek's POV except for that last lil chunk, which is all Stiles. 
> 
> Hope you like it!

Derek wakes up to ashes every morning.

He doesn’t remember much, about what his life was like before he lived in a burned down husk of a house in the middle of a forest. He doesn’t remember the people he might have known, or the family he might have had.

He doesn’t know much, either, about this strange world he’s ended up in. He doesn’t know what lies beyond these walls, if there’s anyone else out there.

Stiles probably knows. Stiles probably knows everything. But as far as Derek knows, it’s just the two of them, alone, in the whole world. The last two people on Earth.

Sometimes Derek wonders if he’s ever known anyone else who can do what Stiles does. Maybe it’s common among other people to talk and talk endlessly without ever actually saying anything. Maybe if he were stuck here with someone else, they’d withhold all the answers and jerk away from every touch too.

But Derek’s always suspected that there’s no one else quite like Stiles.

* * *

_"Listen," Stiles pleads with him desperately. Derek notices absently that his face is streaked with blood and dirt. "I'm sorry, you have to believe me, I'm so, so sorry..."_

* * *

They've built up a comfortable routine by now. Stiles smiles at Derek from the kitchen when he comes down in the morning, and Derek tries his best to smile back.

"Do you remember my name?" Stiles asks, his smile just bordering on anxious.

And it's frustrating, that Derek has to think about it every morning, that it always feels like he's on the verge of remembering something important, something _huge_ , but Derek just closes his eyes and concentrates until it comes to him.

"Stiles," he says finally. "You're Stiles."

And Stiles breaks out into a huge grin every time, staring at Derek like he hung the fucking moon.

* * *

  _Derek is holding something warm and sticky and gently pulsating in his hands.  It's oddly comforting._

* * *

 Here’s what Derek does remember: waking up in the earth, barely able to move or even open his eyes. There had been dirt on his tongue and he couldn’t breathe and it was darker than he’d ever thought possible and he was so, so _cold_ —and then, all of a sudden, Stiles. Stiles, pulling Derek out of the earth and brushing the dirt out of his hair with something unreadable in his eyes.

He remembers standing there, staring at each other, for the longest time without either of them saying anything. Now that Derek knows Stiles a little better, that’s actually the strangest detail of the whole affair.

Even stranger, it was Derek that broke the silence first. “Who are you?” he’d asked, voice hoarse with disuse.

Stiles had just bitten his lip and thrown himself at Derek, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug that lasted years and was over too soon. “I’m sorry,” he’d whispered, inexplicably.

Derek had frowned at that. “What are you sorry for?”

Stiles had laughed a watery little laugh and wiped at his eyes with the palm of his hand. “For taking so long.”

* * *

 " _I can do this, Derek. I know I can.”_

* * *

Every morning, Stiles stuffs his pockets with wolfsbane and peppermint before going outside. There isn't much to do while he's gone except worry, which Derek does. A lot. All Derek’s ever seen of the outside world are perpetually grey skies and dead trees, as far as the eye can see. But Stiles seems so intent on mapping out this world of dust and ashes, and Derek knows Stiles never does anything without a reason.

"What are you looking for?" Derek asks some mornings, when he can work up the nerve.

The answer changes every time, depending on what mood Stiles is in.

"The others," Stiles says softly sometimes, guilt heavy in his eyes. Sometimes he'll be more specific, sometimes he says a name Derek can't remember but knows he should. "A way out," he'll say on other days, with fierce determination. On good days, he'll say, "Some goddamn fucking curly fries." And he'll tip his head back and laugh for ages.

Those are Derek's favorite days.

* * *

  _Derek hadn’t doubted that for a second, not with the determination set on Stiles’s face and that grim look in his eyes._

* * *

 "Oh, the mountain ash around the house isn't to keep you _in_ , silly," Stiles had laughed once, waving his hand airily. "It's to keep everything else _out_."

He’d said it like that was nothing to be concerned about.

* * *

_"But this isn't a fight I can win if I still have my heart," Stiles admits with a bitter smile._

* * *

 Derek knows that he's... _less_ than he used to be. There are days when Stiles says something that obviously used to be an inside joke between them, but is incomprehensible to him now. Sometimes Stiles will absent-mindedly ask him to move a dresser or open a jar, and Derek's aching joints pop loudly in protest.

Derek isn’t stupid. He knows that he died, and Stiles dug him up and brought him back to life. He knows that.

What he doesn’t know, the question that haunts him every day, what some small part of him wonders every time he looks Stiles in the eye, is whether or not he killed him.

* * *

_Stiles pushes him into the earth, and only then does Derek realize he's been standing on the edge of a freshly dug grave._

* * *

 "Do you remember my name?" Stiles asks when Derek comes down every morning. It pains Stiles, it really does, watching the struggle to remember play out so clearly on Derek's face.

"Stiles," Derek says finally, and Stiles relaxes immediately with what he knows must be a dopey grin, so relieved he could kiss him.

Derek looks away, adorably embarrassed, and Stiles's smile softens into something sadder.

He know this can't last forever. He knows that one of these days, Derek will remember his real name and then--and then he'll probably kill him.

But for now, it's just nice to pretend.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, I was going for cryptic and mysterious but hopefully I didn't overshoot it too much and land in "what the fuck was that" territory aaaaah >.< Please ask if you have any questions, hopefully I can make this a little less totally undecipherable.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed; comments/kudos are, of course, appreciated! :)


End file.
